


A Concept of Anarchy

by LovelyPlantPrincess



Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, F/F, F/M, M/M, Non-Canonical Relationships, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 16:26:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6964252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyPlantPrincess/pseuds/LovelyPlantPrincess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the recent passing of her younger brother, Gemma Madock’s parents move her out to Timbuktu, Nowhere and she hates it instantly. But with a slightly goofy, extremely attractive young drug dealer and his squad of oddball friends, she might find herself enjoying more of this shitty little place afterall.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Concept of Anarchy

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a concept. If you guys love it, I'll work on it and attempt to complete it (me and multi chaptered fics never get along). It'll take awhile for the new chapter of course, but I just want feedback. A Tig/Gemma coming of age story - yes or no?

**Chapter I: We’re Going to Be Friends**

The beaten up old moving truck rumbles beneath Gemma as it ambles along the strict roads, the jolts and vibrations making it difficult for her to prop her elbow on the windowsill and gaze at the scenery - if one could call the moving landscape even  _that_ . It’s becoming more obvious that these parts are mostly desert - dirt, dirt, an occasional cactus, and  _even more dirt_ \- and it’s absolutely infuriating the young anarchist that there’ll be no more sneaking out of her bedroom to go to a party or rally or any of  _that_ business now that Charming is ten fucking  _miles_ away. She can’t even remember the last time she saw a quick stop, or even a  _decent_ looking house. Around these parts, it looks like it’s all trailer parks and tumbleweeds.

She can tell she’s going to hate it out here without having set foot on the dusty roads. Gemma has a habit of just _knowing_ these things, and this is one of the things she just knows. It’s all backwoods and back _wards_ , and she didn’t think it could get as small-towned as Charming but she consistently stands corrected. The fifteen-year-old girl is almost a _thousand_ percent positive that her and her parents will be the only ones around with a full set of teeth.

The mental image of her holier than thou mother rocking a yellowed, coffee-stained smile to church forces a huff of amused air from the teenager’s nose.

“It’s not so bad,” the mover sighs, shifting the steering wheel to the other hand. Gemma tears her eyes away from the window to look at him. “I know what you’re thinking - I thought it too when my mom and step-dad moved us out around these parts. But trust me, this is just a stretch of land before you get to where you’ll be staying, and that won’t be as bad as… _this_ .”

The guy is surprisingly nice for such an angry looking exterior, and she can’t help but be shocked that  _he_ actually lived around here. If anything, she thought he was just a Charming Valley boy looking to earn a little summer cash driving trucks around. He’s certainly way too attractive to be the white trailer trash she’d seen so far - shining azure eyes that sparkle under the scalding sunlight, a mane of dark messy curls tucked under a baseball cap flipped backwards, and a pearly white dimpled smile that entirely combats her stereotype of people that lived in these rural areas. The only thing that betrays he might be some sort of ‘gangbanger’ or any of the sort are the various tattoos peeking from under the sleeves of his t-shirt and the one on his inner forearm.

“Yeah, well… so far it looks like hell,” she pouts, because fuck it - she’ll allow herself to be a spoiled brat just this once. Cute guy or not. She never asked for much  _else_ in life before - she was too busy looking after Junior, teaching him never to grow up like Nate or Rose, being the mother their  _actual_ mother couldn’t dirty her palms being. She was going to kick up as much dust as she could now - especially since there could no longer be any repercussions to fall back on her little brother.

“I know, I know. Like I said - I hated it too. I’m not gonna lie - the school around here is shitty as hell and there’s not much to do for fun, so it’ll be hard adjusting. But think about it - you’re about as far away from Jehovah’s Witnesses as you can get,” he grins, drumming his fingers against the wheel. She barks out a sharp bit of laughter before turning her head back towards the window. The sky is at least gorgeous, a beautiful pastel blue that she looks forward to photographing. “S’your name?”

“Gemma Madock,” she replies, another shocker hitting her. Everyone in  _Charming_ knew her name - her father was their beloved preacher, Nate Madock, and a wholesome man that the church women swooned over. Her mother was the head woman of their tupperware parties, always bringing out the best dishes and bowls for her father’s jealous congregation of women to drool over, the silent ‘you lucky bitch’ dying on their lips. And those that didn’t know her that way knew her from school - the chainsmoking, the heavy eyeliner, the gaudy black, the mouth of a sailor or as the girl that photographs their prom pictures for free. Gemma was  _known_ . It’s the first time she’s been genuinely asked her name since she was a toddler.

“Ah. Your pap’s the preacher over at Zion?” And there it is. She braces herself for the typical ‘you don’t look like a preacher’s daughter’ or some lecture about how she should dress more appropriately if she was gonna be related to a man of that godly status. Like she had a choice to be related to him. “No mean to pry, but why is the good holy man and his family moving to Methhead City? I mean, I live here, but that’s expected what with…”

The driver trails off, gives a small shake of his head, and spares a quick glance to Gemma. She watches him for a moment before shrugging.

“My brother, Junior? Or well, the good holy folk know him as Nathaniel. He passed away about six months ago. And my mom couldn’t handle all the sour memories of that place, so she insisted that we get away from our old house. She was adamant that my smoking, partying and drinking came from the death of Junior, and once I was in a new environment, I’d make a change for the better. Hypocritical bitch drinks like a fish, but that’s neither here nor there. It just took her two times of putting her mouth somewhere she wouldn’t dare on any other day and Nate was saying it’d be good to get us away from Charming. Unfortunately, he wasn’t committed to leaving his congregation. So we moved a hundred billion miles away from the nearest dealer,” Gemma snorts. The driver does too, and he looks to her again - this time his eyes alight with amusement and eagerness.

“I didn’t take you for a tweaker. Do you need to score? My step-daddy’s always got some really good shit. What’re you looking for?”

“What does he have?” she asks, leaning forward in the lumpy passenger's seat with a piqued interest.  

When moving away from Charming, the first thing she’d been worried about is losing her connections. She’d only been smoking for about a year at this point - it was how the seniors paid for their prom photos, considering she didn’t really need money - but she’d already grown attached to her dealer because he already knew just what she wanted, how much she wanted and how she liked it. She’s almost giddy with the idea of finding another one the very day she moves out to this place - it completely defeats fifty percent of her parents reasoning on moving out here. She’d get her dealer - and although it wouldn’t be the same - her pot.  _And_ that means she’d be able to relax during her last three years in not-Charming, California before she bailed. No more jumpiness or edgy nerves like she’d been experiencing since she’d begun to ration her weed.

“Whatever you need. Your teeth are too clean for meth, but he’s got it if you need it. Blow, horse, crank, molly, LSD, whatever you can think of,” he shrugs. “I would be nervous ‘bout you bein’ a fed, but A - I don’t give a flying fuck if that asshole gets arrested, and B - you seem too much like a free spirit to be a rat.”

“I’m not a snitch,” Gemma confirms, almost defensively. People seemed to assume that just because she was the Preacher’s Daughter - and technically best friends with the Chief’s son - she was automatically undercover for law at all times. Which, if she thought about it, wasn’t exactly too far of a guesstimated leap. But she prided herself on being different from her connections, even if the original assumptions always almost got her killed or hurt and it took her longer than others to gain trust. “Hell, half the shit I do… anyways, yeah. I don’t need all that heavy shit though - just something to make me light and take the edge off. He got pot?”

“‘Course he has pot. He’s the best goddamned dealer in the San Joaquin county.  _And_ I’ll make you a deal - you come out with me tonight after I finish helping your pap and my boys move this stuff and I’ll get you your first taste for free,” the driver promises, beaming at her.

“I don’t even know your _name_ ,” she retorts easily, being a risk-taker but not a stupid risk-taker. The guy was easily five years - maybe more - her senior and definitely shady, considering his step-father was a drug dealer. Who knew what he could be plotting? “You could be a serial killer or a rapist or something.”

“You’re smart, but I promise I’m not gonna hurt you. I’ve seen enough of that shit for a lifetime. And it’s Alex Trager, friends call me Tigger. I would shake your hand but…” Alex tips his chin at the steering wheel and she nods. She’s silent for a few moments, simply enjoying the calm of the moment - and attempting to decipher what he means by ‘seen enough of that shit’ but then her brow furrows.

“Why Tigger?” she asks, after a few moments. It was a strange nickname, and definitely one that stuck. She couldn’t help but think of the Winnie the Pooh cartoon, and the goofy, fun character that Nate used to spend hours reading about and laughing along with.

“I used to get around a lot - if you know what I mean,” he sighs regretfully. Gemma notices that he doesn’t seem to enjoy having the nickname, despite it being extremely unique and actually quite suiting. “They said I liked to go  _boing! boing! boing!_ so Tigger - or more commonly used, Tig - spawned. I got my act straight _eventually_ , but the name kind of stuck.”

There’s an extreme sort of shame in his tone, and Gemma almost feels bad for him. She herself knew how hard it was to shake a bad reputation - or rather, her father’s exceedingly good one - and she hated the effects of it with a passion. It must’ve sucked to have something stay with him for so long.

“Well, alright, Tigger,” she smiles, attempting to portray that she doesn’t hold he ‘was’ against him as long as it wasn’t still who he ‘is’. “Fine. Swing back by my house an hour after you leave, and I’ll go with you.”

“Yeah?” he asks, his tone brightening up a bit.

“Yeah.”

  ** _-~|~-_**

They arrive at what will be her new home for the rest of her life - or for what her  _parents_ think will be the rest of her life - not thirty minutes after the agreement is made with the moving truck driver. Tig was absolutely right - the area around her house is much more attractive than the stretches of deserted land they’d bypassed on the way. Gorgeous southern magnolia trees hang low over a cobblestone path that leads up to the front door of the small home, and the house itself is quite quaint. Surrounding the small property is nothing but endless pine trees of all sizes - perfect for running off to when things at home were bad. Gemma can only imagine what lies the mysterious loom of forestry - the sparkling lakes, the refreshing rivers, the wildlife. All the photography potential at her disposal.

And there’s no surrounding ‘neighbors’. Just forestry and a perfect space for a replica of the gorgeous rose garden the Madock’s used to have in Charming.

Gemma immediately peels off with a small polaroid camera that had been hanging around her neck - photographing the trees, the sky, anything that her camera can catch and as fast as it can catch it. It’s obvious she longs to go deeper into the woods, but everytime she steps too far away from the property, Rose calls her back with a harsh snap. Nonetheless, there’s childlike wonder filling her hazel eyes, a small - barely distinguishable - smile pulling at the corners of her soft lips and a serene relaxation to her once tense facial muscles. Tig stares after her with amusement and a barely concealed affection - for the first time in four years, a salacious thought does not pass through his mind and it secretly worries him - but a large hand with a strong grip appears on his shoulder pulls him away from her visage.

“Don’t even think about it, son,” Nathaniel Madock says calmly, staring after his daughter with fondness. There’s none of the fatherly gruff in his tone that the younger man is used to, but he can suspect the protectiveness creeping into the edges of his voice. After a few moments, Nate tears his eyes away from the fifteen-year-old girl with a small, fake smile. “You’re not one of the boys I’d consider worthy of her. You so much as cast a sideways gla--”

“Sir, with all due respect,” interrupts Tig, never one to put up with the stereotypes forced on him because of the way he looks. Yes - he had tattoos, there was a feral-like glint in his blue eyes, and he was easily towering well over six feet. But he wasn’t a bad guy like often suspected - he had decent table manners, he wasn’t raised like an animal despite what his step-father’s reputation implied. Tig was still a human being with thoughts and feelings. Disregarding that based on looks was rude. “I don’t have any intentions with _jailbait_ . You’ve got yourself a lovely, intelligent, daughter but I’m not interested.”

He’s lying. He’s  _more_ than interested, in fact. There’s just something about Gemma - from the pout on her lips to the glistening rage in her eyes. Something about the steely hardness in her personality, the maturity that most girls her age lacked by the pounds. She’s wise beyond her years, no doubt - he can tell from the way she carries herself, from the way she handles herself. Mindblowingly intelligent - from the small snippets of conversation he’d caught with her, he’d been enlightened to things he didn’t know existed - incredibly beautiful, and extremely strong. She’s got an alluring personality that intoxicates him, leaves him itching for more like a junkie without a fix. It’s something he hasn’t seen in women since his ex-girlfriend.

“Well… _good_ ,” Nate replies, obviously deterred. “I’d hate to have to unmount the rifle.”

“I’m sure you would,” sighs the younger man. “I’d like to get to work now, if you don’t mind. We have quite a bit to do before the day is over.”

Nate harrumphs and Tig smirks at him.

_If only you knew, old man._


End file.
